


Sugar

by DamnedAfterAll27



Category: Chris Evans- Actor
Genre: Angst, F/M, Some Fluff, Sugar Daddy AU, basically sugar daddy Chris AU, except with less sex and more mental manipulation, it's just a thriller really, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnedAfterAll27/pseuds/DamnedAfterAll27
Summary: Chris Evans, legal professional and wealthy gentleman, is lonely. Victoria, a young grad student, is broke and dreams of a life in the lap of luxury. When they meet, sparks fly, and an enamoured obsession so begins. But Victoria is hiding something from her new lover- and secrets only stay secret for so long. Especially when other parties are involved.





	1. Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Tumblr as @whotheeffisbucky. Because that's me, so it's cool.

He’s lonely and wants some companionship, he tells himself.

There’s nothing sexual about it; it could hardly be called prostitution. Someone he can have on his arm at parties, someone to tell dirty jokes with while other legal dinosaurs trade stories around tables about how things were better in the old days. He’s in his mid-thirties and never been able to hold down a relationship for long. Around him, people are getting married and pumping out kids- he’s not even got a date for Saturday night.

When he puts his details into a website, he doesn’t even think about it. It catches up to him a week later when he invites ‘JaneDoe21’, who he has been chatting with almost non-stop for four days, to his office.

Chris Evans was a corporate lawyer, perhaps one of the best in the United States. His downtown Boston office overlooked the bay and, if he really decided to put himself out there, his name would be splashed across the society pages of the Globe. A question mark had long since existed over his bachelorhood and whether or not he was secretly dating a supermodel or an actress. The reality was much less impressive.

His secretary calls through, announcing that his guest has arrived.

Dropping all his paperwork, Chris tries to clear his desk of the worthless junk, hoping to appear powerful enough for this mysterious woman. He summons the woman in, sitting back against the cream executive chair. Quietly, he wonders if something is stuck in his teeth, or his hair is sticking up in a funny fashion.

When the door opens, his heart skips a beat.

She’s smaller than he would have expected, but she glides with the elegance of a cat, limbs so controlled that he feels powerless underneath her. Her dress is the colour of milky coffee, hugging in the all the right places and accentuating the delicate curves of her figure. She screams that she means business without saying a word. He falls under her spell before her hand even meets his. Chris stands, buttoning his jacket, and shakes the hand of the girl. His secretary offers a drink, which she declines, slipping into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.

She holds out her hand for him to shake. He kisses it instead.

‘Chris.’

‘Victoria.’

Christ, it’s a beautiful name. Suits her down to the ground. If anything could completely epitomise this woman, it was that name. He sits back in his chair, observing her.

‘You don’t seem like the type to want this kind of arrangement.’

She shrugs, dropping her Chanel purse on the floor. With a quick second glance, he can tell it’s a fake.

‘I dress for the life I want, not the life I have. There’s a lot of debt behind this exterior.’

He swallows, then leans back. This was a key part of the arrangement. A woman- the ‘baby’ of the deal- would give him- the ‘daddy’ (how he hated that name)- affection, companionship and if, she so decided, sexual favours, in return for him showering her with praise, cash and similar affection. He’d done extensive research into the sub-category of romantic relationships. He was a legal professional- of course he’d obsessed over the details.

‘What do you do?’

‘Currently? I’m still at Grad school.’

‘Where?’

‘Harvard Law.’

He is impressed. It’s his alma mater.

‘How are you finding it?’

'Expensive. But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’

For a moment, he watches her calm movements. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall into her deep green eyes and never return.

‘Which field?’

‘Human rights.’

He smirks. Her eyebrows crease in concern at his dismissal of her ambition. An apologetic look cracks across his porcelain face.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just…everyone wants to do the big ones. Human rights, criminal law, entertainment- it doesn’t happen. You’ll end up like me. Handcuffed to a desk for a corporation whose gotten away with more crime than Capone.’

It takes her a moment, but eventually, she does crack the smallest of smiles, allowing him to relax under her stare. Then, he reaches across his desk for the dual contracts he’s drawn up.

‘I’ve created a contract. You seem like the kind of woman who wants to know the details.’

He hands her the stack of papers, which she taps neatly against the desk before flipping through. It’s a standard contract, with nothing at all snuck behind intricate language. Just what he is prepared to do for her, and vice versa. This isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey- he’s not demanding that she submit to him. He’s an equal opportunist; they will share the balance of power.

‘Let’s call it a trial period. Four weeks, we undertake the relationship as though we’ve known each other forever. If we’re still in this same position in one month, we’ll continue.’

She seems content with what he says, but still remains silent as she glances through the pages. He uses this time to notice the tiny details about her. Her eyeliner is a little smudged, despite the perfect wing with which it has been drawn. Lips the colour of blood match nails that curve softly at the tips. Her shoes are scuffed a little- a sign of good wear and tear.

Making a mental note of the brand, he wonders what the price tag of them would be. A man with his bank account doesn’t need to worry about purchases like that. For her, he might just buy anything. Victoria looks up, her fingers plastered across one particular page. With a quick glance, he notices that she is at the romantic portion of their potential, future relationship.

‘Would this be a romantic relationship- or purely platonic?’

He coughs, his answer already prepared.

‘This can be as sexual as you want it to be. As far as I’m concerned, I will only make move if you consent. Otherwise- we can define our relationship with a different term.’

Victoria nods, glancing over the paperwork again. She has a keen eye, he thinks, a reputable feature in any good legal professional.

‘Do I have to call you Daddy?’ ‘Not if you don’t want to. Pet names come under Clause 4.’

She scans the document, eyes tracing the words he’s drawn up. She smiles gently at one particular one, a gesture he notices and presses upon.

‘Which one?’ he asks gently.

She looks up, innocently, not realising he had been watching.

‘Kitten,’ she smiles, ‘I like that one. For me.’

‘You do have very cat-like movements.’

‘Darling. For you. I like that too.’

He smiles.

‘A sophisticated title. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.’

She grins at that, the first genuine, un-structured smile he’s seen her give this entire transaction. Her questions are carefully thought out, precise. Perhaps she’s been thinking about this just as much as he has. When her sculpted eyebrows furrow once again, he places his folded hands on the table, ready to act the gentleman. This is the first time he’s done this, but he knows how to treat a woman right.

‘Let me take you out to dinner, first. How about in a week? It gives you a chance to look over the contract, decide which clauses require amendments- and whether or not you like me.’

She closes the contract and places it back on the desk, allowing herself to look into his eyes. They’re a stunning blue, warm and inviting, like the ocean surrounding a tropical island.

‘Can I try something, Chris?’

‘Of course.’

She gets up from the desk and walks over to his chair. He cannot mask his surprise when she slides onto his lap, her hands around his shoulders. As one palm presses possessively against the nape of his neck, she leans in to kiss him. Her lips are soft and waxy, pristine red lipstick bound to leave a mark against his mouth. She opens her mouth gently and his tongue brushes her. The taste of mint and tea fills his senses and he seems to relax, visibly against her. It’s over much too quickly for his liking and she’s on her feet again, gently touching up her lipstick with the pad of her index finger. Glancing down at him, she smiles.

‘Until next week, darling,’ she murmurs, before picking up her purse and swaying out of the office.

Chris allows himself a few minutes to recover as Victoria disappears. His senses are on fire. Something tells him their dinner will simply be a formality. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t make that woman his. Somehow.


	2. Sweet

Chris hasn’t been able to get Victoria out of his mind all week. 

He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about her in several compromising positions. When he’s in the shower, his mind begins to wander as to what it would be like to see her in his apartment. 

Not as pristine and classical as she had been when she cordially introduced herself, but a little bit undone. 

Exposed. 

He can picture her wearing one of his dress shirts, half buttoned and revealing just a perfect amount of soft skin. Her hair lazily thrown up into a messy bun, the glass walls of his home illuminating her goddess-like stature. 

He wants nothing more than to speed up the formalities of their meeting and keep her here for his own enjoyment. 

But there’s a protocol he has to follow. She’s an ordinary woman, and would probably be incredibly worried by the things he’s been thinking. Therefore, they remain only thoughts. Daydreams. 

He sends Victoria a hardly elusive bunch of flowers, after discussing at length just what the bouquet should suggest. 

Though he’s not one to understand the language of them, he hopes that she will be able to. On the tag, he invites her to what he knows is one of the best restaurants in town. He knows the head chef, he says, an old friend from college. 

On the other side of the city, in a crappy little high rise that pales in comparison to the glorious skyscrapers that Chris is used to frequenting, Victoria is woken by the delivery. 

Her roommate, Alice, glares at the poor teenager whose been charged with delivery and snatches the flowers from his palms, ignoring his silent plea for a tip. 

She dumps the flowers on the stove and yells for Victoria, who stumbles out of her room, disorientated. 

The flowers are a welcome source of colour in a room made up of dying shades; beige and grey, occasional hints of what was once black. 

Victoria, a little lost for words, admires the large arrangement, finding an old German beer mug and filling it with water. She has to look up what the flowers mean, but when she deciphers their beautiful message, she feels her knees go a little weak. 

He is anything but a man of ambiguity. 

Rifling through the blooms, she finds the small cream card and the neat calligraphy that has been printed onto it. It’s thick and hard, the sign of high quality. 

Accompany me to the Duchess tonight. Dinner. I’ll pick you up at 8. C.E x 

‘Who’s sending you flowers?’

Alice stands in the doorway in a shirt that doesn’t belong to her, cleaning out the dregs of a yoghurt pot with her finger.

‘Chris.’

‘Wait- sugar daddy? Shit, Vic. I didn’t think you guys were serious.’

‘We’re not. It’s his way of asking me out to dinner.’ 

Alice’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as Victoria smiles softly, dipping the card back into the midst of the blooms. 

‘Well, shit the bed, Vic. Lock that thing down!’ 

Her bedroom is small, but this should make a welcome distraction from the dark mould growing on the walls. 

She disappears into her bedroom and opens the small closet, abandoning the flowers on her already cluttered desks. There are only three dresses in there, ones she’s saved up to by, ones that probably cost more than a month’s rent.

Women in the crowds that Chris runs with probably throw these away on a daily basis. 

Picking up the cocktail dress she normally reserves for high powered parties, at least where black tie isn’t required, she notes the few roughed edges around the hem, the scuffs from the last event she wore it to. 

If she wears it tonight, Chris won’t think the best of her. It’s integral that she win him over- or at least can prove to him that she’s willing to adapt and learn to the customs of his world. 

The dress will need amending, she decides. Perhaps an adjustment to the sleeves, or a shortening of the hem line. 

After Googling the prestigious restaurant- and wondering which of her internal organs she’s going to have to sell for her food tonight- Victoria sits down at her sewing machine and begins to work.

***

The car outside costs more money to service than Victoria has ever made in her lifetime. 

When she steps outside of her apartment building, Chris is leaning against the car, smiling gently. His eyes sparkle a little when he sees her, his body tensing just a touch. 

Respectful and demure, he kisses her cheek with one hand on her waist, before opening the car door and helping her inside. He instructs the driver to take the long route to the restaurant, and pours two flutes of champagne before handing one to her. 

‘I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,’ he admits softly as she sips on the bubbling treasure, careful not to leave a circle of ruby lipstick around the rim. 

‘Really? Then I must have made a good impression at your office.’ 

‘You made a lasting impression, Kitten,’ Chris murmurs, smiling gently when she shivers at the name. 

They share small talk, where he enquires after her day, reminds her of how beautiful she looks in the dress on more than one occasion.

He recognizes the garment; it’s an old Valentino, a good few years aged. There have been adjustments made to it, obviously. 

Soon, when she agrees, he would like to take her shopping. There’s a personal shopper in New York who could pick her out a gorgeous capsule wardrobe, all paid with the beautiful piece of black plastic currently sat in his wallet. 

He’s sure she would adore it. 

The car pauses neatly outside of the restaurant and Victoria waits until Chris has exited the car and opened the door for her before she gets out. He extends his arm to her, which she takes, already feeling a little incongruous in the street.

People are staring, as many have the tendency to do. 

When they enter, it is as though everyone in the room knows the man intimately. He shakes hands with the head waiter, casually slipping him a bill with three figures on the front, and the two of them are taken to a secluded booth in the back of the room, away from prying eyes. 

A bottle of the house red is brought to the table and glasses are poured. 

Victoria watches carefully as Chris samples it, nods approvingly, and motions for the waiter to leave the bottle. The whole charade happens without him having to say a word. 

True power has been witnessed, and she doesn’t think anything has turned her on more. 

Their glasses clink across the table and she takes a delicate sip, careful not to spill a drop on her pristine dress. 

‘Did you enjoy the flowers?’ he asks as he places the glass down, brushing away an invisible speck of dust from his jacket. Armani, she notes, impressed, before replying.

‘They’re beautiful. I must admit, they made my bedroom come alive.’ 

His face constricts a little at that, as though a thought weighs heavy in his head. When he doesn’t articulate it, she pulls out the one weapon she has so easily at her disposal.

‘Penny for your thoughts, darling.’ 

The jolt of electricity that runs through him is inhuman. He takes a gulp of wine before speaking, wondering if what he says is actually English and not endless gibberish. 

‘You live in a rough neighbourhood. It can’t be safe.’ 

‘It’s alright, I suppose. We’ve had a couple of break-ins. Not that we’ve got anything worth stealing.’ 

Chris frowns again, pausing in his interrogation as the first round of your food arrives. She can’t quite pinpoint the exact ingredients, but it’s delicate arranged and looks as though it might melt in her stomach. 

‘You’re not allergic to anything, are you? I guess I should have checked before.’

She shook her head daintily, picking up the glittering cutlery and returning to their previous conversation. 

‘They’re student apartments, Chris. Hardly the Ritz.’

‘What’s the place like?’ 

The small crease in-between his eyebrows is back again. She would find it adorable if she weren’t so entirely focused on steering the conversation to its correct destination. 

‘There’s a little black mould, I guess, and the heating doesn’t really work. You saw the outside. It’s kind of a dump.’ 

It’s as though he’s already been charmed into her tiny little pocket. Already his mind his turning with solutions. Would it be over-stepping the boundaries of the contract if he happened to propose an alternative living arrangement? 

He could more than compensate for what she’d be missing out on, and in return, he’d have someone to come home to at the end of every night.

For a brief second, his fantasy returns again. 

The one in which he finishes a terrible day, as most of his days are accustomed to go, and when he comes home, there’s a woman waiting for him. She’ll listen to him bitch, help him relax, make him feel as though the outside world- the world out there- is utterly useless and not worth listening to. 

He doesn’t take Victoria as the kind of woman who would do this lying down, however. Equality is key here. 

She’s a strong person, a complex individual. He must encourage her own pursuits in order for his dream to become a reality.

Shuffling the napkin on his lap, he finishes his food and stares at her, examining every inch of her body without a drop of shame. 

‘If I proposed that, for the next month, you lived with me…what would your response be?’ 

This is the big hook, what she’s been waiting for him to say. Her modesty was all for show; the sooner she can get out of the hell-hole that is her student digs, the better. 

Who on earth would choose a crumbling wreck for a home over a sleek, designer high-rise owned by the one man who wanted to spoil her rotten and treat her like his queen? 

‘I’d agree. Though I would suggest that we don’t sleep in the same bed. Just at the beginning.’

The plates are cleared away and she politely declines dessert. Something tells her she won’t want to keep too full a stomach tonight. 

As more wine is served, Chris moves around the booth, placing his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to his body. His cologne is intoxicating; worse than any alcohol she could have consumed. 

Victoria feels light and a little giddy, the world running at a slow, jagged motion around her. For a brief second, she allows sensation to take control over her mind. 

Chris leans in to her and nibbles gently on the lobe, grinning when he elicits the sweetest, smallest moans from her lips, which form a small circle at his touch.

‘I can be any kind of man you want, Kitten. You want a friend, a lover, a chauffeur- I’d do any of it. There’s something about you, Victoria. Something that brings me to my knees.’ 

His weakness brings her delight. 

‘Darling, a powerful woman has a habit of doing that to an equally powerful man. Perhaps we are an excellent match,’ she teases him gently, her fingertip brushing along the length of his grey, silk tie. 

When he kisses you, you are lost. 

It’s as though everything has been leading up to this particular moment, the moment he asserts his slight dominance. It’s the binding of a contract, the seal of your fate. And yet, behind it all is sweetness. 

She thought of the lonely man who first contacted her, who seemed so shy and awkward through messages, but became an eloquent, intelligent gentleman from just one meeting. 

Perhaps retrospective thought will prove her wrong but for now, she is smitten. This is her key to a better life, a better world. 

Chris is simply her vehicle in which to access it. 

And if he wants to believe that they’re falling in love…what’s stopping him?


	3. Sealed

When he whispers in her ear, his lips a brief breath away from hers, Victoria doesn't have the energy or heart to refuse him. 

He leads her into the towering high rise which he calls his home with his hand still tucked into the crook of her slender waist, fingertips getting to know every elegant curve of her body with each seemingly innocent movement. 

Chris is a man obsessed with image; the goddess before him provides such tantalizing artwork that he can’t help but reach out and touch. She hasn’t swatted him away or stalked out on him yet, so he considers his feather light touches as acceptable. 

Victoria feels possessed by him. 

He seems to know exactly how to work her, how to curl himself around her little finger, whilst simultaneously coaxing her to fall under his spell. 

The luxury of the night, the scent of power and superiority that he intoxicates those around with him, like a poisonous perfume, is the most formidable aphrodisiac she’s ever had the pleasure to experience. 

He knows the doorman by name. There’s a friendly greeting exchanged between the two, Chris asking after the health of the doorman’s wife and children. After a moment, he glances at Victoria, then back to the man at the front.

‘Actually, Mark, while I’m here. This is Victoria. Now, no matter what time she appears, day or night, even if I’m not home- you must let her in to my apartment, is that clear?’ 

‘Of course, Sir. You’ll forgive me if, occasionally, I ask the lady for identification? Extra security from the men upstairs.’

Chris looks forgiving. 

‘Of course, Mark. I understand. Have a good night.’ 

As he leads Victoria to the elevator, she feels a small tingle of excitement crawl along her spine. The whole building is almost palatial, and she can feel herself getting used to the set-up very quickly.

‘Will I need some sort of key made?’ she asks Chris as they step into the elevator. 

He laughs, not unkindly, and places his palm on her hip, another possessive gesture on his part. 

‘You won’t need a key for my home,’ he replies softly. When the elevator doors open on the top, she soon realizes why. 

The elevator leads directly into the apartment, into a large, open plan silver room that glitters under the gentle light from above. The walls seem to be made almost entirely of glass, providing a breathtaking view of Boston at night. 

She feels so tall, perched so high above everyone below. 

Walking out of Chris’ grasp, she pauses in the centre of the living room. It’s a modern place; all sleek silver appliances and gentle shades of grey all over the room. 

A large TV hangs seamlessly on the wall, the couches bridging the gap between effortlessly comfortable and sophisticated. Art hangs on the walls; expensive art, she can tell, by the fact that she’s plenty of them hanging in galleries recently. 

He has money to burn. 

From the corner, licks of fire suddenly burst out from a hidden fireplace and Victoria jumps, hand covering her heart when she realizes just what the contraption is. 

‘Just setting the mood, Kitten. You’re jumpy.’ 

Chris chuckles a little behind her, making a conscious effort not touch her just yet. All he wants to do is put his hands all over her, to remove that sewn up dress and satisfy his hunger for the woman underneath.

But restraint must be practiced. Nothing is done without her written consent.   
He smiles gently, allowing her to remain entranced by the surroundings of the glamorous apartment. 

Her wonder at the place reminds him of just why he bought it. With a few touches here and there, she could turn it into a home. Somewhere he’d want to return to. 

‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get your contract. I think we’ll make it official tonight.’

He doesn’t give her a chance to object. Victoria stands in the room, moving from the living room to the kitchen. She can’t resist running her palms over the sleek marble of the counter, or marvelling at the way the whole kitchen seems to work together. 

Part of her thinks about all the things she could cook here. With the space to spread out, there’s no stopping what her hands might be capable. Of course, she thinks, her mind wandering into dangerous territory, such large kitchen counters could provide ample space for other activities. 

She lets out a gentle moan, sure that Chris cannot hear her, at the thought of sitting up on the counter, her legs spread, his gorgeous face buried deep between her thighs. 

Chris seems like the kind of man who is not only a Houdini with his mouth, but who would know just exactly what to do to make her see stars. An older man with a little experience. It was all she craved. Was it too much to ask that she be satisfied when she so desired?

When Chris returns, he finds her still staring wistfully around the place. Placing the contract and pen on the glass dining table, he speaks softly to her. 

‘It’s soulless. I, like most of the people who live here, don’t spend very often in my own home. That will change. Now I’ve got something to come home to.’ 

‘I think it’s unique.’ 

‘It lacks a woman’s touch. If you like, you can do a little re-decorating. Order some new furniture. I hear France have some fantastic pieces.’ 

From the refrigerator he retrieves a cold bottle of champagne. With ease, he uncorks it and pours two glittering flutes, leaving the bottle in a bucket of ice before he hands one glass to her. 

He leads her to the glass table in the middle of the room, where the contract and a Mont Blanc pen have been laid out for her at strategically placed right angles. The whole thing seems rather formal to her, but she sits elegantly, curling her legs underneath the chair and crossing them at the ankles. 

‘You still have a few decisions to make on the contract, but otherwise, you are ready to sign it and officially begin our relationship,’ Chris says, choosing not to sit but to stand behind her, watching, as he sips his champagne. 

Victoria opens the contract, her eyes scanning over the finite details that she already knows. When she comes to Clause four, she pauses, taking a thoughtful sip of her drink. 

‘I think you know by now that I’d like for our relationship to be a romantic one,’ she says quietly, her thumb gentle tracing the length of the fountain pen. 

Chris nods, his insides jumping for joy at hearing her say this. He places his glass on the table and puts his hands on her shoulders, gently tracing the small slice of skin that is visible to him. 

‘There are limits, of course,’ she continues, removing the cap from the pen, ‘I don’t do BDSM. Or whips and chains, that kind of thing. I’m all up for experimentation, but there’s a certain level of control I like to maintain with my partners.’

‘I feel the same way,’ he says calmly, mind turning, ‘There are also certain…social expectations.’

‘Like?’

‘Like that you will always attend events with me. I will call you my girlfriend. You’ve shown you can conduct yourself excellently around the upper crust.’ 

His fingers begin to gently dig into the skin, finding the pressure points easily and eliciting a small, almost untraceable moan from the woman in front of him. 

She stares down at the contract for a little longer, noting all the little annotations that he has made. When she pauses beside more financial matters, he smiles gently to himself. 

‘I’ll make it worth your while, Kitten. I don’t expect you to be collared by my credit card. Every month I will deposit an amount in your personal account for whatever you choose to use it on. This excludes things that I want to buy you. Clothes, jewelry, trinkets, gifts- that you don’t need to concern yourself with.’

‘Just out of curiosity,’ Victoria asks as she neatly signs her name at the very bottom of the contract, ‘How much do you make?’ 

He shrugs. It’s a perfectly valid question and one he believes he should have answered much sooner. 

‘It depends on the client. The bigger companies will pay through the nose for the utmost discretion. I think my income last year was closer to ten million than anything else. It was rather a bad year.’

She nearly blots the cream page with ink. 

Millions of dollars are difficult enough to comprehend, and yet he talks about them as though they were single bills. His hands are still gently massaging the skin of her shoulders, getting to know the flesh a little more intimately. 

‘I would suggest, therefore, that I deposit around 100,000 a month for your personal use. Would that be enough, Kitten? If you ever needed more, you’d only have to ask.’ 

The things she could do with such money. It seems like such an extraordinary amount, but to him it’s another bill, another thing to pay. Victoria closes the contract, no longer able to ignore the gentle throbbing in-between her legs. 

Chris has captured her, and if she can wrap him quickly enough around her little finger, then she can capture him to. 

She stands from the table, abandoning her glass, and puts her arms around his shoulders, staring up at him through the long threads of her eyelashes. 

‘It’s official. I’m your Kitten,’ Victoria smiles, not missing the shiver of pleasure that rushes through Chris. 

‘You’re mine,’ he says, breathlessly. 

Gently leaning forward, Victoria pauses when their lips are just a fraction apart, savouring the anticipation. The build up is often the best part of the kiss. 

‘I want to kiss you, Darling.’ 

He doesn’t kiss her then. Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her to the couch, offering her a seat. When she’s settled, he leans across and gently presses his lips to hers. 

It’s a ghost of a kiss, barely there, and yet full of feeling. She edges a little closer, her palm pressing against his thigh. Chris seems content with simply exchanging slow, lazy kisses for a little moment. 

After she feels her mouth may cry out with a lack of contact, his tongue traces her lower lip in long, languishing strokes, taking his sweet time until her mouth opens and their tongues slip together. 

After a moment of soft tasting, he moves away delicately, eyes boring into hers.

‘I want to take my time with you. Savour you. Worship you like you deserve to be treated.’ 

Chris gently lays her down against the couch, her back sinking into the comfortable fabric, lips moving to the angular curve of her jaw. She doesn’t allow herself to move too much, but lets his mouth uncover her, unwrap every layer until she’s completely exposed beneath him.

His lips press lingering kisses along the arc of her jaw, moving swiftly onto her throat and finding a little weak spot underneath her ear lobe, at the very crux of her jaw. When her delicate moans fill his ear, he swears that he might explode right there. But he forces himself to remain vigilant.

Victoria simmers, requiring more contact. As he moves to her clavicle, her dress preventing him from getting anywhere near her breasts for now, she wraps her legs around his middle, giving gentle grinding motions with her hips against his. 

When he moans against her flesh, it’s like a symphony in her ears. Her thigh brushes against the length of his torso and he allows his hand to travel along the smooth, soft flesh, pausing at where the hem of her dress meets her skin. 

He won’t allow himself anymore. 

Like luxury chocolate, such a woman is best enjoyed a little at a time. To allow himself to be utterly consumed at this very moment would be an intrusion on her. 

‘I can’t trust myself,’ he whispers breathlessly to her, quite aware of how aroused he is, ‘I don’t want to rush things. Please. Let me show you to your room and we can…resume this at a later date.’

He’s formal, hurried. Something’s stopping him from ripping off her clothes and taking her right now. 

It irritates her just slightly, but she chooses not to let it show. Both of them will receive the company of their hands tonight, and all on the basis of formality and convention. 

He holds her hand as he walks her through the apartment, fingertips needing to feel her touch for just a little bit longer. The room he leads her into is the size of her old apartment.

A vase of freshly cut roses have been set on a large vanity table in the corner, along with a few necessities she may need- including a silk chemise in her size. He’d guessed, but it was hopefully going to fit. Chris kisses Victoria’s cheek and smiles gently, reluctantly disentangling himself from her grasp. 

‘Sleep well, Kitten. Until the morning.’ 

As he leaves her to her own devices, Chris quickly goes to his own bedroom, disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. 

He strips quickly and gets into the shower, his hand fisting around his aching cock almost as soon as the water has hit his back. 

It doesn’t take long; the thought of her spread open for him on his bed, displayed and aching for him, her gorgeous body just waiting for touch, makes him come with just a few languish strokes. 

He moans her name, like sugar on his lips, as he orgasms, begging for her mercy. 

A spell has been put on him. And how he’ll be able to resist with her just in the other room is something he’ll be pondering all night.


End file.
